A Love and Beyond

by Dan Sofer

  Shira looked askance at him. “But we have plans already.”

  “What plans?”

  “Didn’t your parents tell you?”

  “My parents?”

  “We’re going to the Dead Sea tomorrow, Dave. All of us. Your parents. My parents.”

  “Our parents have met?”

  She nodded. “In London. A few months ago. They’re quite close.”

  “Oh. And our parents know that we…?”

  Shira nodded again.

  Dave remembered his mother’s innuendo. Shira had told her parents. That was a good sign.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Yes. Of course. I just don’t usually share my dating life with my parents. You know how parents can be. Well, some parents.”

  Shira’s family was probably functional and well-adjusted.

  “Our parents need to meet eventually,” she said. “At least we know that they get along.”

  She had a point.

  His dreams of Shira Cohen had involved many things but never his parents. Elopement had always been a valid option. A romantic weekend for six with his mother’s constant smirk did not make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Dave’s mother had a talent for ruining his mood.

  Shira must have read his thoughts.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time.”

  ***

  Mandy stepped out of the Porsche and onto a cracked pavement. Twilight descended on the German Colony.

  Emek Refaim. Dave territory.

  The three girls left their shopping bags in the back seat and Shani dismissed Jake with a noncommittal “Call you later.”

  Mandy’s knees quivered.

  What if Dave went to the minimarket right now?

  How awkward.

  Would he think she was stalking him?

  She longed to see him again, even from a distance.

  Shani herded her into Aldo’s chocolate and ice cream emporium. “Welcome to heaven, ladies.”

  Shani selected a thick candy-sprinkled cone filled with balls of Belgian chocolate and toffee. Mandy settled on cookies and cream and mocha. Ruchama ordered three balls of fruit sorbet in a cup but her willpower collapsed when the steaming waffle arrived, covered in syrup and rich vanilla ice cream.

  They sat at the counter against the window and faced the street.

  “There’s more to life than men,” Shani said, licking syrup from a long dessert spoon.

  “Mush more,” Ruchama mumbled through her full mouth.

  Mandy lifted another square of waffle onto her spoon.

  Shani was right. Heaven was served with ice cream and tasted of maple. She would need to double her jogging schedule. She had no excuses now that her evenings had freed up. Shani never seemed to exercise but then again, until tonight, Shani had never seemed to eat.

  Streetlights bathed Emek Refaim in yellow. Across the street, at a table outside Café Aroma, a man held a newspaper. A waitress approached but he waved her away. The straw hair and sparse beard registered in Mandy’s memory.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “I know that guy.”

  “The gingi at eleven o’clock?” Shani asked. “He’s been watching us the whole time.”

  Ruchama almost choked on her waffle. “A stalker?”

  “How do you know him?”

  Mandy remembered the long robe and crazy blue eyes.

  “We studied at the same college campus. Now he plays the harp at the kotel.”

  “The King David guy,” Shani said. “Great.”

  “How do you know he’s stalking us?” Ruchama asked.

  “First of all,” Shani said, “he hasn’t ordered anything. And he’s holding the newspaper upside down.”

  As they watched, King David dropped the newspaper on the table and got up. He pulled the hood of his shirt over his head, shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, and crossed the street. He headed right for them.

  “He’s coming!” Ruchama said.

  The hair on Mandy’s neck prickled.

  “Easy, girls,” Shani said. “We stay put until he’s gone.”

  “What if he follows us?”

  “Shhh. Don’t make eye contact.”

  King David reached the sidewalk, meters from their window seats. Then he turned his back to them and ducked his head, as though studying his running shoes.

  What is he doing?

  A young couple crossed their view, smiling and engaged in close, animated conversation.

  It took a few seconds for Mandy to process the image.

  The girl dressed well, had straight, dark hair and a great figure. The man wore a casual collared shirt, like the one she had picked out for…

  Dave?

  Shani lay her hand on Mandy’s forearm.

  Outside the store window, King David lifted his head. He glanced to the side and strode off. After the couple.

  “Phew,” Ruchama said. “Maybe he wasn’t following us after all.”

  Mandy stood. “I’ve got to go.”

  “What? You’re going after him?”

  Shani’s grip tightened. “Don’t, Mands.”

  Mandy shook her arm free and dropped a fifty-shekel note on the bar.

  “I’ve got to warn him,” she said.

  “Mandy!”

  “Warn who?”

  She had no time to explain. She grabbed her bag and sped out the store.

  A group of high school kids with New York accents blocked her way. She squeezed through.

  Dave and the girl were already far down the road. King David followed a few paces behind. She wanted to cry out, to call Dave’s name.

  Dave stopped at a pedestrian crossing. He looked for oncoming cars in Mandy’s direction but didn’t see her.

  Should she wave? Try to get his attention?

  King David kept walking and passed by Dave. Doubt froze Mandy’s arm.

  Dave and the girl crossed the street and made for the path beside the little park with metal goats. Mandy knew it well; it led to Dave’s apartment.

  Her brain overloaded with conflicting emotions. How bizarre to watch Dave as an outsider. Like a stalker. The real stalker paused on the sidewalk. The hooded head watched the couple disappear between apartment buildings. He seemed to consider crossing the street. Then he turned around.

  She spun on her heels.

  Oh, brother.

  She quickened her pace.

  Don’t run. Act calm.

  The noise of passing cars made it difficult to hear his footfalls.

  She heard a thud behind her. She turned in time to see a white taxi swallow the stalker and cruise away.

  ***

  Jay hung his towel over the metal banister and stepped down the steps, naked. His skin prickled at the touch of the chilly waters. Calves. Thighs. Stomach. Chest. At the bottom of the steps, the water reached his neck. His breath came in quivering snatches. The square indoor pool was large enough for one man.

  The light of a single fluorescent danced on the water. Jay closed his eyes, held his breath and sank. He lifted his legs off the tiled floor and spread his limbs. The purifying waters kissed every inch of his body.

  He came up for air.

  One.

  He dipped beneath the surface again.

  Two.

  Three.

  He repeated the motion, faster now, the waters surging and spraying with each dive.

  Forty.

  Jay held his breath. He savored the last immersion, floating like a fetus in the shifting fluid of the womb.

  He climbed the steps, a new man, and toweled off.

  John cracked the door open.

  “Head sherang wants a word,” he said.

  Jay lifted the gray sackcloth cloak from a hook on the wall and slipped his feet into his jandals.

  He walked down a corridor of stone tiles and dangling incandescent bulbs.

  Home.

  Jay had not had a place to call home in a very long time.
Here he ate, slept, studied, and meditated. He prepared his current incarnation for the revelation of his great soul. Any day now.

  He paused outside a large reinforced door.

  Perhaps today?

  He knocked once and turned the brass knob.

  A single lamp cast amber light over the spartan furnishings of the square chamber: a wooden desk, bare storage shelves, naked walls of rough stone. Stars twinkled through the iron bars of a single raised window.

  A white hooded cloak sat behind the desk. The dark cowl tilted to the side, lost in thought.

  Jay stood at attention and waited. The Teacher had outlawed mundane speech in the Yachad.

  The notes of Jay’s report lay on the desk.

  He had never seen the leader eat or sleep. He seemed to subsist on meditation alone. He saw what others failed to see.

  “Tomorrow,” the Teacher said. “Mr. Green.”

  Jay knew what he must do. He nodded.

  “We are close,” the Teacher continued. “Stay invisible.”

  Jay’s fingers twitched.

  “What about Schwarz?”

  He had distrusted Green’s straight-laced accomplice the moment he had set eyes on him. In his report, he had recommended moving on Schwarz first.

  The cowl straightened and gray whiskers glinted in the light. The Teacher lit a match. He held the pages in the air and watched as the fire consumed the edges. He dropped the burning words into the tin waste bin.

  “His day will come, my son,” the Teacher said. “Soon enough.”

  ***

  Tuesday morning, Dave opened the door of Ben’s office at the COD.

  Ben slouched at his desk.

  “Your girlfriend called last night,” he said without looking up.

  Dave hesitated. “Shira?”

  Ben shut his laptop. “Your other girlfriend, Casanova.”

  Great. Mandy had given up calling Dave and moved on to his friends.

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s worried about you. She thinks you might be in danger.” Ben shook his head. “Poor thing. You’ve really messed with her head.”

  Dave closed his eyes and counted to ten. He had not wanted to hurt Mandy. Ben knew that. And he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he had, but the whole truth would really sting.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That you’re an idiot and not worthy of her. Besides that, nothing.”

  He gave Ben a pleading look.

  “Relax,” Ben said. “I didn’t mention your new flame. She was really upset. She’s coming over to the house later to talk. You’re welcome to join us.”

  He wasn’t falling for that. He looked at his wristwatch. “We need to finish in an hour. I’m off to the Dead Sea.”

  His overnight bag waited in his car outside.

  “Romantic weekend with Shira?”

  “And our parents.”

  Ben frowned. “Crime and punishment.” He stood. “Now. Time for our chat with Ornan.”

  Ben swung a deflated City of David backpack on his shoulder and led the way out of the office and through a group of camera-toting Chinese.

  “What’s with the bag?”

  “Just in case. Who knows what treasures Ornan has stashed away. We might be able to salvage something.”

  “The way you salvaged the scroll jar.”

  Ben stopped beside the huge David’s Harp at the Institute gates.

  “Listen, we’re in this together. Soon we’ll be sitting with Ornan, pressing him for answers. We have to present a unified front. Remember The Godfather?”

  “The movie?”

  “Don Corleone meets with a rival mafia boss. In the middle of the negotiation, Corleone’s son argues with the Don. The rival Mafioso sees the split as weakness. So he orders a hit on the Don, thinking that if he gets the Don out of the way, he can cut a deal with the son. See what I’m saying?”

  Dave raised his eyebrows. “I should keep quiet so Ornan doesn’t try to whack you?”

  “Good,” Ben said and strode down the slope.

  Dave almost slammed into him when he suddenly stopped.

  “Dammit,” Ben said. “We’re too late.”

  Two black vans hugged the wall of Ornan’s. They reminded Dave of the A-Team van from the eighties action series.

  They hurried down the hill.

  Through the tinted windows of the van, Dave made out the forms of wooden packing crates.

  “You must have spooked him,” Ben said. “We’ve got to get to him and fast, or whatever he has will be lost forever.”

  Ben reached for the handle of the cast-iron dungeon door, but abruptly leaped to the side of the door and pulled Dave after him.

  “What—?”

  “Shhh.”

  The door swung open. Ben grasped the handle as it neared his belly and kept the door from shutting. A van beeped twice and a car door opened. Boxes shifted. Words were exchanged in a gruff guttural language.

  Ben stepped around the door and tugged Dave after him by the arm. Two muscular men in jeans and T-shirts leaned into the back of a van.

  Ben put his finger to his lips and snuck through the open door and down the stone steps. The electric torches flickered on the walls. This time they hissed warnings of imminent danger, not romantic possibilities.

  This was a bad idea.

  “They call this breaking and entering,” Dave whispered.

  “Didn’t break anything,” Ben whispered in reply. “Work with me. It’s the only way we’ll get answers.”

  The landing had not changed: the concierge desk, the hive of wine bottles, and the mounted tapestry of blind soldiers on a castle wall. Wine and furniture were not at the top of Ornan’s moving list. Gone were the aromas of spicy food and soft background music.

  Ben did not tap the bell on the counter.

  The thud of a distant hammer sounded further inside. Ben flexed his fingers at Dave in a follow me gesture.

  Dave opened his mouth to protest. They should ring the bell, make their presence known; but then he might never see the VIP room again.

  He followed Ben down the arched corridor.

  Still no sign of life.

  Ben stalked down the passageway. Beyond arched doorways, tables and chairs stood in disarray. Something had interrupted the waiters’ work unexpectedly.

  Down a long corridor, a satin boundary rope blocked their advance. The curtained doorway of the VIP room beckoned.

  Ben parted the curtains an inch with his fingers, then disappeared into the chamber.

  Dave hesitated. The first time he had entered that room his life had changed course. Who knew what a second visit would do?

  Voices echoed down the corridor. He drew a deep breath and pushed through the curtains.

  The freestanding bronze lamp burned in the corner. The chamber had not changed: the Bordeaux curtains, the wooden two-seater, the round coffee table.

  Ben dropped to all fours and peered under the table.

  “Nothing there,” he said, dusting his trousers off. “I can’t see under the couch.”

  Ben gave the two-seater a heave. Nothing gave. He frisked the cushions and shrugged.

  Dave peeked between the tapestries but found only a narrow gap and a wall of solid stone. “Nothing behind the curtains.”

  The room was smaller than he remembered.

  On one tapestry, a young shepherd slept and used a rock like a cushion. The ladder behind him stretched to the heavens. Winged men peered down at him.

  Mishi’s words rang in Dave’s head.

  Move Below, move Above.

  “Was the light on when you came in?” Dave asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then they’ll be back soon. We should go. “

  “It’s got to be here somewhere. Hidden in plain sight.”

  “Unless there is no stone.”

  Ben raised his hand, tilted his head.

  Dave heard the voices too. They were drawing closer.

&n
bsp; Ben looked about the room for a place to hide.

  “Here,” Dave said. He slipped behind the silky curtains and pressed his back to the wall. The curtain hung an inch from his nose and smelled of old fabric and dust. Ben quickly took position beside him. Through the blade of light between the hanging curtains Dave could see most of the couch and table.

  Two burly men crossed Dave’s line of sight. Dave recognized one of them as the concierge who had handled his reservation. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and a brown sash across his back—which was in fact the carry strap of a machine gun.

  Oh, crap.

  Dave stopped breathing. His heart beat like a drum in his ears. He watched the scene like a disembodied soul.

  The men got to work. They picked up the table and carried it out of sight.

  A third, unseen man spoke. His gruff voice commanded the others with harsh, guttural words. The men returned and put their shoulders against the side of the couch and heaved. It shifted a few feet on hidden tracks.

  Unseen Man spoke again. The concierge stepped out of view and returned with a crow bar.

  Dave shifted his head for a better vantage point and bumped his head against Ben’s.

  The concierge inserted the iron rod between the stone tiles where the couch had sat. A heavy slab lifted. The other man caught the edge and soon laid the square stone beside the hole in the ground.

  Dave exchanged a glance with Ben.

  Is this really happening?

  Unseen Man issued another command and the two helpers filed out of sight and earshot.

  Unseen Man stepped into view. He was short, balding, and had a greasy mustache.

  Ornan.

  A handgun peeked out of his belt. This was no Manuel of Fawlty Towers now. This was one secretive and dangerous little man.

  Ornan gave the room a sweeping glance. At one point he seemed to stare directly at Dave. Then he stood over the hole in the ground and gazed downward.

  He dropped to his knees. Slowly, he reached his arms forward and into the hole. He straightened and turned slowly at the waist. At arm’s length he held a cylindrical metallic container like a very small hat box.

  Dave’s breathing quickened.

  Ornan placed the box on the floor. He reached back into the hole, fetched a metal lid, and sealed the box. He got to his feet. He pulled a handkerchief from a trouser pocket and mopped his forehead. Then he left the room.

  Dave sucked in a lungful of air.

  “Now,” Ben said. He stepped from behind the curtain and made for the box.